


PocketDemon

by ximeria



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Crack, Gift Fic, Humor, M/M, Smut, aziraphale isn't supposed to know how to use a mobile phone, moderate intake of alcohol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-09 11:56:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20994428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ximeria/pseuds/ximeria
Summary: Half a world between them and Crowley gets a rather funny phone call from Aziraphale. Who is sloshed, doesn't know he's called Crowley on the mobile that Crowley insisted he take with him and is happily waxing poetics about Crowley to his own drunk self.





	PocketDemon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [robynthemagpie_writes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/robynthemagpie_writes/gifts).

> Written for an adopted prompt on the Good Omens Big Bang server (yes, another fallout from that server XD).
> 
> Robynthemagpie. You put this up for adoption, hope I did it justice XD
> 
> \---
> 
> Prompt (inspired by our dear friend tickety-boo, who is just coming home from a great night out right now): Aziraphale, eternally useless with technology, butt-dials Crowley whilst on special assignment overseas. It's 11pm. He's a little tipsy and a little verbose, jabbering away to himself as he wanders back to his hotel. For Crowley back home, it's one early morning wake-up call that he's glad he didn't miss.
> 
> robynthemagpie
> 
> Once again, I owe Meinposhbastard all the thanks - Dee, always a delight to be told to write better XD

Crowley blinked in confusion. It was barely dawn and he was unsure what had woken him up. Turning his head, he realized that the noise was coming from his phone on the bedside table.

Fuck, if it was another telemarketing ploy, he was personally going to set someone on fire. [1]

Still caught in the haze of sleep, he grabbed the phone intending to hang up. His finger hovered over the red icon, his blurry just-woke-up eyesight finally catching up.

The caller ID was happily blinking 'Aziraphale', the stupidest picture Crowley had of the angel staring back at him. The first selfie he'd made Aziraphale take, the one where he wasn't looking into the lens and the tip of his tongue was just visible at the corner of his mouth, face set in obvious concentration while taking the picture.

Oh! Oh, what if something had happened? They normally stuck together, but Aziraphale had told him that he could handle a trip to New Orleans on his own. The rumours of Heavenly interference had been slim at best. Surely there was nothing for them to worry about. Or reasons for Crowley to worry about Aziraphale? [2] So he'd insisted the angel take his damned mobile with him, so he could reach Crowley if needed. It was an uphill battle getting Aziraphale to understand the mobile part of a mobile phone.

Crowley accepted the call, fumbling the phone to his ear and opening his mouth to say hello.

_"Waste of time,"_ Aziraphale's voice came through, a little muffled like he wasn't holding the phone up to his face.

Crowley rolled his eyes. Silly angel, still had trouble with his mobile phone.

_"Woul've been nicer if Crowley'd been here,"_ Aziraphale continued, his voice a little odd to Crowley's ears.

He frowned and put the phone on speaker while he pulled himself up into a seated position in the bed. A text message icon caught his eye, but he was sidetracked by Aziraphale carrying as well as finally realising why Aziraphale sounded so weird.

_"Been nice to share those lovely cocktails with him."_

Sloshed. His angel was pickled, so to speak. Crowley grinned. Aziraphale could easily hold his wine, his scotch, his ale, but cocktails _always_ made him silly as hell. And a drunk, silly, Aziraphale was a sight to behold. It was always entertaining and he had no inhibitions - he'd grab at Crowley's arms, shoulders, hands - often hanging onto the latter when he did so.

Crowley might tease him relentlessly for how giggly he became when tipsy like this, but he would be a liar if he claimed he didn't absolutely love it as well.

A grin stretched Crowley's mouth. He was not going to let Aziraphale hear the end of this when he got back.

_"Littl' 'mbrellas and all, so lovely and sweet, like Crowley,"_ Aziraphale carried on.

Crowley stared at the phone. Lovely and sweet were not words he was used to hearing aimed in his direction. Not even from Aziraphale who had upgraded from 'my dear friend' to 'my dear' in general, which never failed to cause heat to gather in Crowley's chest and make his heart beat faster, the little traitor.

He opened the text message, telling him that there had been no signs of Hellish or Heavenly interference. And he realised that Aziraphale had probably texted him and then hit call by mistake before pocketing the phone.

It wasn't the first time this had happened, but Crowley normally just laughed and hit the hang-up button. [3] But currently his friend was wandering through New Orleans, drunk, pickled, sloshed. Take your pick.

The text message wasn't that much of a surprise to Crowley. It didn't take Heaven and Hell meddling for humans to go astray. They were perfectly capable of stirring up shite on their own.

It had been more than a year since the Armageddon hadn't happened, and since they'd both occasionally travelled to check up on anything that might smell of their former head offices trying to reignite the End Times.

Last month Crowley had puttered about in Australia without too much luck and this time it was Aziraphale on a wild goose chase.

The problem was, they couldn't afford to ignore it. They no longer had intel to lean on nor did they have any particularly nice and accurate prophecies to point the way.

The phone was quiet for a little while, then a small 'oooh' escaped Aziraphale.

_"Goodness, that dr-dress is absolutely gorgeous,"_ Aziraphale slurred. _"That would look utterly divine on Crowley."_

Crowley stared at the phone.

_"Oh, yes, slinky, just like Crowley,"_ Aziraphale hiccoughed, then giggled.

Oh hey, maybe he should hang up because this was no longer something he could just tease the angel about, this was getting dangerously close to personal territory. The personal territory that they hadn't stepped foot onto - even after the Armageddon.

There was a click from the phone, like a door closing. Then the hum of something electrical.

_"Mmm, yes, slinky, all sleek and wonderful, probably smooth to t-the touch."_ Aziraphale rambled on. _"Maybe not the hai-hair, though, that's spiky and curvy and hmmmm."_

There was another click, then a rattle of keys.

_"Would've been nice to share this room with him too,"_ Aziraphale muttered. _"Didn't expect to miss his company so quickly."_

Ah, you maudlin old angel, Crowley thought, feeling a tightening in his chest. They'd only been apart for about a week. Of course, since the averted Apocalypse, they'd barely been apart for more than a day.

Crowley tried hard not to think about what that meant. He'd tried hard not to think about it since then.

Clothes rustled and Crowley could hear Aziraphale humming in the background, the voice a little further from the phone now. If he was right, then the angel was back at the hotel and had taken his jacket off. It caused the usual flutter in the pit of Crowley's stomach.

Aziraphale had been buttoned up for going on centuries now, not much flesh showing and Crowley sometimes felt like he was a character in a Victorian novel. And he'd lived through Victorian England! There was no way in hell he'd swoon like a virgin on her wedding night just because he'd seen a flash of a naked forearm or bared neck and collar bone!

There were other sounds that Crowley wasn't entirely sure what were, but he was straining to hear. He ignored the early morning sounds from the streets outside his flat, the rustle of his own bedding as he shifted where he sat. The smooth slide of his silk pyjamas against his skin made him shiver, but his focus never wavered from his phone.

_"Would be nice to just lie here with him,"_ Aziraphale suddenly said. The following sigh was loud enough to make it over the line.

Crowley swallowed hard.

There was the softest of moans.

_"If I was less so-soft and not a coward…"_ Aziraphale's voice trailed off. Another deep sigh and-

Crowley closed his eyes. Oh shit, he should've hung up earlier than this. While he would happily give Aziraphale shit about not handling modern technology all that well, it was one thing to hear him accidentally drunk calling Crowley, it was a whole ‘nother kettle of ducks to actually overhear him moaning Crowley's name under his breath.

Because that was exactly what he was hearing.

Now, most people would hang up and never bring it up in polite conversation, but Crowley, being who he was [4], snapped his fingers and felt himself surge through the phone line, slingshotting around several communication satellites and stumbling across the floor of a small, but cosy hotel room in New Orleans.

Not that Crowley noticed the cosiness, because he was far too busy reorienting himself and nearly falling on top of Aziraphale, whose eyes shot open, staring at him in mild incomprehension and growing shock.

The latter was possibly due to the absolute undress the angel was in. If Crowley would have swooned at a bare forearm, he was about to discorporate right there because Aziraphale had dressed down to his trousers and shirt, and both were undone to reveal a rather nice expanse of naked skin.

Catching himself on the edge of the bed, hands braced enticingly close to Aziraphale's hips, Crowley just stared. Discorporation was beginning to sound like a possibility. He licked his lips, trying to focus on _anything_ but the aforementioned pale, naked skin.

He wasn't having much luck.

"How-?" Aziraphale asked, voice barely audible.

"You butt-called me," Crowley croaked, eyes wide as he took in the picture, following the taut line of Aziraphale's arm and wrist where it disappeared into his trousers.

"I- I did no such thing!" Aziraphale said indignantly.

Crowley managed to look him in the eyes and was met with the most adorable pout, lower lip begging to be bitten, eyes wide and unearthly blue.

"Yeah, well, maybe not with your butt, but that's just what it's called, angel!" Crowley felt more than a little desperate. He had not, for a split second, thought this through.

Well, time to buck up then! Sliding onto the bed, Crowley sat so he was almost touching Aziraphale's hip, putting a hand on the other side of his shoulder, leaning in and not for a moment breaking eye contact.

"I feel like I should be offering to give you a hand," he purred, drawing on every past temptation he'd done or witnessed. "But I think maybe I just want to watch. Would you like that, angel?"

A half-swallowed sound of something desperate escaped Aziraphale, who seemed just as incapable of breaking eye contact as Crowley was.

A small bead of sweat trickled down Aziraphale's left temple, and Crowley considered for a moment leaning in to taste it. Instead, he caught it with the tip of a finger and licked it off. Salty and perhaps a little sweet. "So sweet, angel," he said licking his lips again, this time for show.

Aziraphale managed to pull his hand back out from his trousers and grabbed Crowley's bony wrist, fingers digging painfully into his flesh. He was breathing hard and looking more than a little undone.

His grip was hard enough to leave marks. What a glorious thing! Crowley shivered at the mere thought.

A soft, broken sound escaped Aziraphale and Crowley wondered if he'd pushed too far. Then he recognised the tingle of the miracle as Aziraphale sobered himself up. His eyes cleared a little, the flush of his cheeks receding some.

Crowley knew this was the point of no return. Was there any way Aziraphale could talk his way out of this one? If there was a way, Crowley figured that yes, the angel would find it.

If it was a way out he'd be wanting. They'd danced around this issue for so long, centuries if not millennia. Small touches, brushing against one another and lingering looks. Neither of them had been capable of breaking away from the conditioning of their kind. They shouldn't, they'd be found out, they'd be punished.

That wasn't an issue any more, was it?

"Crowley?" Aziraphale's voice was soft and there was a hint of insecurity in there as well.

"Angel?" Crowley pulled back a little more, meeting Aziraphale's sober gaze.

"A b-butt-call?" Aziraphale blinked up at him, flexing his fingers where they were still digging into Crowley's wrist.

"Yeah, you kinda managed to put a call through to me after texting me," Crowley explained, no hint of taunting in there. If perhaps a little bit of teasing. It had been a little funny. Until it had turned rather hot. "And then you kept talking, and I thought it was a bit funny until…" Crowley trailed off, watching Aziraphale lick his lips, the tip of his pink tongue only just dipping out.

"Until?" Aziraphale urged. His eyes were fairly fixed on Crowley's lips.

"I thought perhaps I should have hung up around the time you started talking about slinky dresses," Crowley said with a smirk. That had definitely been hot to listen to.

"But you didn't," Aziraphale prompted, voice low, and no longer with any hint of the former insecurity [5] \- firm and in control.

Crowley met his eyes. There was barely any blue left visible, eclipsed by the black of his pupils. "No."

"You're still wearing your pyjamas," Aziraphale said, like it was the most natural thing to talk about.

"I woke up to your call," Crowley said, narrowing his eyes. Why was it he felt like he shouldn't trust-

Aziraphale bit his lower lip and Crowley forgot everything else. He could only watch the pearly white teeth bite into the pink-red flesh.

Crowley was no saint and he wasn't an idiot. It would be so much better if he was the one to bite that lower lip. And he did, leaned in and licked first at the indent that Aziraphale had left, then bit into the flesh, none too gently.

The whole world shifted, and suddenly he was no longer sitting next to the object of his desires, but rather he was on his back, a rather brazen angel between his thighs, with a rather hard 'effort' demandingly pressed against his own.

And that was about the last coherent thought Crowley managed for a while. All he could focus on was the plush lips covering his own and the insistent tongue in his mouth. Oh, hea-hel-go - _fuck_. Not to mention the hard heat almost painfully pressed against his erection. At least they were on the same page now!

Crowley had never given it much attention how much strength there must've been in Aziraphale's hands. Sure, they'd shaken hands a few times, and while the angel had a firm handshake, it was nothing compared to the iron grip he currently had on Crowley's thigh, fingers digging into flesh and muscle. The thumb positioned to most assuredly be bruising the softer tissue of the inside of Crowley's thigh.

And all of a sudden that was the sole focal point for him. The angel holding him down, marking him. And as if Aziraphale had heard him, he broke their kiss, nosing along Crowley's chin, down his neck, making Crowley swallow hard, gasping for air. And then he pushed his face against the point where Crowley's neck and shoulder met and _bit_.

Crowley would never, ever admit to the sound leaving his lips being anything that could be described as a mewl-rising-into-a-whine.

It wasn't the pain, that was a mere tickle, no, it was the fact that it felt like that very point was connected to his dick, making his whole body light up like a fucking Christmas tree.

When had he lost control of this situation again?

A snap of fingers and a draft. Crowley blinked at the change of sensation as he was now naked, still on his back on a bed in a New Orleans hotel, with nothing even resembling clothes between him and a very naked and horny angel who was doing his damned best to eat him alive.

Mouthing up along the column of Crowley's neck, Aziraphale found his way back to Crowley's mouth and if the first kiss had been raw and demanding, this one was downright sloppy and filthy.

It was all Crowley could do to hang on for dear life. Tilting his hips to get the right angle, his own fingers denting the fleshy globes of the most angelic piece of arse he'd ever had his hands on. [6]

Another moan escaped Crowley but he was well past the point where he really cared about it. He was in the most perfect place ever! Not Heaven, because Heaven was cold and clinical. This was so much better than Heaven could ever aspire to become. It was hot, sweaty and, _oh fuck_, filthy beyond what Crowley had ever imagined the angel to be capable of. [7]

The lazy almost too hard roll of Aziraphale's hips had Crowley seeing stars. The hard-hot feel of both their erections sliding between them, against one another, slick with sweat and pre-come was maddening. It was all that Crowley could do to keep himself from going out of his mind.

He felt Aziraphale move one hand into his hair and he couldn't help but gasp when strong fingers tightened in his hair, fisted to the point where he might possibly come from that alone. And if not that, then from Aziraphale once more digging his fingers into his thigh, rutting against him. Mouthing his way from their open-mouthed, wet kissing to Crowley's ear.

"I've wanted you like this for so long, Crowley, wanted to spread you out underneath me and do unspeakable and unangelic things to you." His breathing hitched, hellfire hot breath bursting against Crowley's sensitive ear. "To hold you down and worship you, possess you, mark you as mine."

The last part nearly made Crowley choke. He'd never thought anyone, let alone himself, could be turned on to the point of nearly discorporating.

But this came close.

"Yourssss," he managed to choke out.

And he could feel the bare bones of that truth, the steel hard core of it. The absolute truth.

The fingers in his hair tightened almost painfully, forcing his head to the side. And Aziraphale's hot breath ghosted over the sensitive skin of his throat before wet lips closed over it and he was being marked to the point of nearly breaking skin, as Aziraphale branded him with teeth and tongue.

Crowley flailed, managing to wrap his legs around Aziraphale's fleshy hips, urging him to pick up the pace, to rut harder, faster, _more_. He dug his fingers into Azirphale's back, no doubt leaving scratches and bruises.

Aziraphale didn't seem to care and Crowley was beyond it by now. It all narrowed down to the slick slide of their bodies, of their cocks, of the bruises left behind like the constellations in the sky.

Crowley gasped as it all became too much, as pleasure coalesced into almost too much to bear. To exist through. His body tight with his orgasm, crying out when Aziraphale gasped his name, only audible to him because his lips were close enough to brush Crowley's ear.

Shaking with the strain, reluctant to let go of Aziraphale and needy as fuck, Crowley couldn't let go as he felt the shockwave lessen, the slippery mess between them bearing witness to their desperation.

Aziraphale was breathing heavily against Crowley's temple. "I feel like I should be asking for your forgiveness," he whispered like he was in a confession booth.

Crowley bit his lower lip, trying not to laugh out loud. Now that he was thinking more clearly, yeah, he could see the signs. And he knew Aziraphale - and still walked right into the trap.

"Nothing to forgive, angel, nothing I didn't want to do," he admitted, voice low and a little rough. "Though I thought I was going too fast for you." He'd meant to say that in a teasing tone, but he could hear the honesty in it and almost winced.

Aziraphale raised up enough to look at Crowley. His face was flushed and he looked very much like an angel who'd been having his way with a demon. "That was 1967, darling. I've been trying to find a way to spur you on since the whole Armageddon debacle, to be honest."

Crowley couldn't stop the laugh from escaping him. "So you called me on purpose. How far were you willing to take that little wank session?" He was genuinely curious and damned impressed with the wily and cunning ways of his angel.

Aziraphale hemmed and hawed for a moment, lips curving into a small smile, nowhere near innocent. "As far as I needed. To a very loud climax."

Crowley swallowed hard. "And if I'd hung up, done the 'right' thing?" he managed to ask.

"Then I'd probably have shown up in your bed, wearing a negligee," Aziraphale admitted, his cheeks colouring. "Desperate times, desperate measures." He'd probably meant it as a teasing joke, but it was such a lovely image and, for a moment, Crowley's mind was stuck on just that. On repeat.

"Angel!" Crowley exclaimed, finally finding his voice again, staring up at Aziraphale, and laughed. "I'm supposed to be the wily tempter, you know, not you."

"You can have the next round," Aziraphale all but purred.

Crowley, now with delightful ideas dancing through his mind, reached up and pulled him down for a kiss. He had to stop that filthy mouth from carrying on or he might just combust.

* * *

1The telemarketers were another good example of how some of Crowley's ideas would occasionally backfire - perhaps not always as much as the M25 catching fire and posing a Hellish obstacle when he was trying to get to Tadfield to help avert the Apocalypse (because his angel had demanded he did so). Crowley was to blame for telemarketers, but perhaps he was paying penance for this as no matter how many blocks he put on the numbers, they always seemed to find him to tell him he'd been in an accident (HAD NOT, hadn't been his fault! She'd known what she'd been getting into, walking on the street!) and was maybe entitled to claim compensation.Return to text

2Of course, Crowley always worried about Aziraphale. It was as natural to him as night was to day, fish to water and carrots to rabbits.Return to text

3He was continuously caught between exasperation and indulgence whenever Aziraphale failed to work that damned thing. He'd given the angel the phone as a gift, but it was hard work getting him to use it right.Return to text

4A demon, never one to think things through too much and hopelessly in love with a certain angel.Return to text

5And this was possibly where Crowley should have known something was up. He was the one entity apart from maybe the Almighty herself, who knew just how shrewd the angel could be.  
And just how much of a bastard.Return to text

6Not that he'd ever had his hands on any other angel's fleshy behind, but theoretically, if he had, nothing would have equaled Aziraphale's.Return to text

7Crowley should, strictly speaking know better, Aziraphale had been on earth for as long has he had - one didn't live around humans for that long without picking up a thing or two.Return to text


End file.
